Surviving
by like broken glass
Summary: It wasn't fair that everything had come down to this: one tiny potion vial. But if it worked, it could change everything. No one would have to die. They could actually live instead of just surviving. And what other options did they have? AU. SLASH.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: _I don't own Harry Potter.

_Summary:_ It wasn't fair that everything had come down to this: one tiny potion vial. But if it worked, it could change everything. No one would have to die. They could actually live instead of just surviving. And what other options did they have? AU! Slash!

_Warnings:_ Slash, Language, Character Death, AU, Time Travel, Dumbledore Bashing, Weasley Bashing…

_Main Pairings:_ Harry Potter/Theodore Nott, Luna Lovegood/Neville Longbottom.

_Beta:_ The lovely **Ink-erPAINT-er**. Thank you!

_Author's Notes:_ I started writing this story awhile back ("Fate's Games" originally). The idea was firmly planted inside my head and I had so many ideas for it. Over the months, I've stepped back from it for a little while. There were so many things that just didn't add up or were explained in really confusing ways… I finally decided to rewrite what I had so far and continue on from there. Hopefully, this will be more detailed and less confusing than the original.

I'm a horrible updater, so feel free to remind me with a review or message and I'll get the first chapter to you as fast as I can.

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><p><em><strong>Surviving<strong>_

_Prologue_

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><p>The moon glistened brightly, silver rays of light falling upon the world like a guardian, watching silently as time passed. Seeing the corruption the world had faced and the horrors that would haunt nightmares for the rest of time – until the clock stopped ticking. The blood that had been shed and the innocent lives that had been lost would never be forgotten, not by their killer, who took joy in his job, or by the manipulator, who had been controlling everything for far too long.<p>

After everything that had happened – that would happen – it had become apparent long ago that this would bring the final destruction of the human race. A lone boy, terrified of death and wishing to be known, to be recognized and feared, blaming the world for his own misfortune, would be the destroyer of the very world he wished to control.

_It wasn't fair. _

It was never fair, right? It wasn't fair when so many people had died, slaughtered offhandedly as if they were just disgusting bugs that needed to be disposed of. It wasn't fair when children were killed everyday just because their blood wasn't _pure_. It wasn't fair that the great castle that had once been home to many, had been ripped down, burned, and laughed at. All that was left of the once beautiful and magical _home_ were blackened stones stained with crimson. It was only a ruin now, just a land marker for so many memories and faces. It wasn't fair that every person that was left – those that hadn't surrendered, the people who fought for freedom and knew courage better than anyone – were running. Fighting against this horror every second, barely have a time to stare at the sunshine or moonlight anymore.

It wasn't fair that everything had come down to this.

Just one tiny little potion vial, so fragile and breakable, a concoction that could very easily kill the drinker – a backup plan that no one had ever planned on using – was their only chance. One drop, that's all it took – whether it would succeed or not, no one knew. It had never been tested, just something that had been made in a hurry – a conclusion that had taken many sleepless hours and a formula that had taken careful caution and calculation. And if this didn't work…

_We're doomed_, Harry thought grimly. He curled his fingers through his hair harshly, tugging on the roots as if they were the cause for all of his problems. His hair had grown quite long considering the fact that he was always going from one place to another, never taking the time to care about his appearance. It wasn't relevant in this type of work – the work of surviving. His once bright emerald eyes were dark and pained, haunted. His innocence stolen piece by piece and he was quite the pessimist now-a-days. What was left to hope for? There wasn't a group of people in hiding, biding their time until they attacked and there certainly wasn't some top secret weapon.

_Just this tiny vial…_

Slim fingers grasped his arms, pulling his hands down so that they could interlace their own with his. Theo's face was fixed in a grimace that was probably meant to be a reassuring smile. Smiles didn't help anymore. They didn't do anything to stop the nightmares or the flashbacks that take a hold of you at the most absurd times.

Theo's own dark brown locks brushed the collar of his shirt, shorter than Harry's but longer than the other man normally kept it. His grey eyes were full of emotions, but he did not speak. It was Theo, the one who always preferred to observe before deciding on an opinion. Theo, who always stayed silent when he didn't know what to say; the man hardly ever fumbled over words, or was that just a Slytherin thing?

Harry tried to recall other Slytherins that he had worked with, fought with – ones that had saved his life more than once. Images assaulted his brain and he could feel his body tense. It was never the happy memories that came first; it was always the worst moments.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think. It was too much. It had always been too much. But he'd never given up and he never planned to. If he died, he was going to come back as a ghost and haunt Voldemort until the monster finally killed himself to end the torture. Harry could be very annoying when he wanted to.

Theo moved closer to him, wrapping his arms around his lover's waist from where he sat on the old dirty bed. The frame was cracked and it groaned when anyone dare shifted to get more comfortable, but at least it was a bed, something they hadn't seen for months. It had been dirt floors and cracked stones with only so much as the clothes on their backs and each other to comfort them.

Harry would freely admit that he would have lost any remaining sanity he had left if Theo hadn't been there. If he had lost Theo like everyone else… It was selfish; to be so grateful that it wasn't Theo he had to watch burn alive, shattering screams coming from his throat. He would never wish death upon anything, except Voldemort, but he would have been shattered into millions of tiny pieces if Theo had… after everything he had already witnessed...

Harry shook his head firmly; now wasn't the time to think about that. He had to be logical and_ sane _right now. He couldn't lose it at such an important time.

"What do you think?" Harry's voice was soft and hesitant as he leaned back into Theo's chest and gazed up at him, looking for answers – for anything, really.

Theo stared back with the same hesitance hidden within his eyes, his grip tightening noticeably on his lover as he bit his lip, thinking. This tiny vial was just as unknown to him as it was to Harry, even if he had some help in making it.

"I…" Theo let his head fall forward onto Harry's shoulder and shuddered slightly. "If there was any other way…" It was barely a whisper, but Harry heard him. "This could permanently damage time and everything that had ever happened. We could have damned the world by just making this." He glared down at the vial sitting innocently on the bed in front of them. "But at the same time, what else do we have? They're sure to find us soon and what are we supposed to do then? All this running is going to eventually kill us, 'Ry, you know that."

And Harry did know that, he could feel it. If the Death Eaters and Voldemort didn't get them first, their own fragile bodies would. They were only twenty; they had their whole life ahead of them. This was never how things were supposed to work, and Harry wondered sometimes if everything would have been better if he had followed Dumbledore's plan, went along with it just to destroy Voldemort once and for all, even it brought him into Death's icy grip as well.

If he had never fought back, never overheard that conversation…

_Then you never would have found Theo, found a family, a true family, not that stupid plot the Weasleys had tried to follow. They were fools, all of them. _

But he couldn't change that now – or could he?

How could one tiny vial be so destructive? Held onto with a caution and used only as a last resort? What was so important about the slightly glowing blue liquid that Harry and Theo were so afraid of? What was the importance of this small fragile, breakable little bottle?

It could change time as they knew it. It could rewrite all of their history, take away memories and actions that one could never truly predict unless they knew the future. And Harry and Theo knew the future, they lived through it.

Time travel was physically impossible. You couldn't be in the same time frame with yourself for too long without something drastic happening; probably causing the balance between everything to fall and well…you get the point. If you went back farther, before you were born, you physically couldn't exist, so you would be locked within a time vortex were you would keep repeating the same moment over and over again. A time turner only went back twenty-four hours, the maximum time-frame where there could be two of you and not cause a drastic change in everything – that is only if you follow the rules and not let yourself be seen or cause something to happen that hadn't happened before (like Harry's third year at Hogwarts).

So, if time travel was impossible, how could this tiny vial change history?

Simple: when you time travel, you take back your physical form with you, not just your soul. If you could take your soul back in time, it would automatically look for your past self, seeking the connection. By swallowing one drop of this potion, Theo and Harry could be taken back into their past bodies from any point in time from their birth to three seconds ago. If it worked right, that was.

There were so many risks with it; the fact that they couldn't be positive what time they would end up in, if they weren't going to mess up the entire universe by taking a risk that had never been done before, or if they would just be killing themselves and the potion did nothing.

There were so many holes in their plan, which was why it had been made as an '_emergency, emergency, when everything had officially gone wrong, there is no other option, then think twice, three times, double check, then use it'_ backup plan.

And of course, there was another aspect to it. Luna had reasoned that anyone connected to the person who takes the potion – such a life-debt, a soul-bond, a completely formed sibling/family bond – would follow that person back as well, whether dead or alive. It would send the soul back in time at their exact point of death, leaving their bodies dead but their soul taking a trip through time. However, depending on what time-frame the drinker had arrived in, it depended on who would take the journey with the drinker. If they were already dead in that time frame, they wouldn't come back. They had to have a live past body to connect to.

For example: If Harry and Theo arrived while they were still babies, only a few months old and the potion did work as Luna expected it to, she wouldn't arrive with them because she had yet to be born. Or if Harry arrived in his first year, his parents wouldn't come back because they were already dead.

How Luna had even reasoned this, Harry couldn't possibly understand, but it was something to consider before they agreed to anything. Luna was almost always right with her theories of how strange things worked. She was the one who created this tiny bottle of destruction after all.

"We could die either way." Harry muttered, staring at the vial darkly. "And what else do we have to lose?"

"Each other." Theo answered softly, using his free hand to brush the hair back from Harry's face when he turned around. The green-eyed boy didn't smile nor did he try to do anything to reassure his lover. How could he? They both knew the risks in the far-fetched plan of theirs and they couldn't control the outcomes, despite how much they wanted to. However, Harry pressed his lips softly to Theo's, tightening his grip on the other man's hand.

"We don't have any other options."

"Then we'll do it." Theo's voice was laced with terrified determination and Harry himself felt like running away. After everything they had faced, everything they had fought for, why was this so terrifying?

_Because we could very easily destroy the world, and the only good thing about that is it would probably be a lot less haunting than what Voldemort has planned._

Theo stood, pulling Harry up with him and grabbed the vial, holding it with a careful hand. They stared at it for a moment, before he held it out to Harry, an unreadable look in his eyes. He was considering everything that could come with this, Harry knew, just like he was doing himself. If the potion did work and Luna's theories proved to be true, who would they see when they got back? If others who had died come back, would they remember their death?

Harry took the bottle, his fingers squeezing Theo's one last time.

"If we do die," he looked at his lover seriously, "I love you and you can torture Dumbledore while I haunt Voldemort." It was stated so matter-of-factly and seriously that Theo couldn't help but snort.

"I promise to give him hell for you." Theo's voice dropped. "I love you too. And if we do end up redoing all of this, Dumbledore won't control anything and we'll kill Voldemort before any of this," He gestured his hand around their hiding place, "happens. The horcruxes can't be too hard to find when we know where they are and _he's_ not aware that we're hunting them. Besides, if we're babies," He smirked lightly, his eyes flashing with a humor that had been so vacant as of late; "no one will ever suspect us."

Harry nodded and ran a hand through his hair, "The old bastard has it coming to him. After everything he's done to me… and little Tommy isn't innocent either." Theo's eyes closed for a moment, his mind flashing back…

Harry grabbed Theo's chin, making the other man look at him. "We'll save them, I promise." His voice was harsh and determined, full of a fury that had been carefully contained for so long. It was the revenge for _their_ lives, _their _murders, the guilt that would never go away forced into his tone.

Theo nodded, tight and serious once more and watched as Harry pulled the stopper out of the small vial and hesitated as it touched his lips.

"I love you." He repeated, leaning in to brush his lips against his lovers once again. Theo's lips were cracked and dry, but the taste that Harry couldn't truly describe except for it being uniquely Theo's was there and it was exactly what Harry was looking for.

His hands shook as he slowly raised that potion to his lips. After all this time, so positive he would die, facing the idea of death too many times to count, here he was standing, taking a potion that could very well cause him to fall to his knees and never say another world again, and he was acting like a coward. He wasn't scared of death, not one bit. If he was damned to hell for everything he had done, so be it. He accepted that fate; it was the idea that he could be bringing Theo to his death as well that didn't sit well with him.

With one last deep breath, Harry let a drop of the liquid fall onto his tongue, handing it swiftly to the man at his side, watching through blurred eyes as his lover mirrored his movements before his eyes rolled back into his head.

It was only two minutes later that the Death Eaters would track down their hiding place. Another four it took them to tear down the hurriedly applied wards. And one minute for Voldemort to march through the shack, and stare dumbstruck at Harry Potter's and Theodore Nott's dead bodies.


	2. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: _I don't own Harry Potter.

_Summary:_ It wasn't fair that everything had come down to this: one tiny potion vial. But if it worked, it could change everything. No one would have to die. They could actually live instead of just surviving. And what other options did they have? AU! Slash!

_Warnings:_ Slash, Language, Character Death, AU, Time Travel, Dumbledore Bashing, Weasley Bashing…

_Main Pairings:_ Harry Potter/Theodore Nott, Luna Lovegood/Neville Longbottom.

_Beta:_ The lovely **Ink-erPAINT-er**. Thank you!

_Author's Notes: _I'll go ahead and explain this: the paragraphs at the beginning of this chapter (and the beginning of most chapters) are memories from _their_ future. Instead of doing flashbacks like I wrote in the original, I'm going to tell the story of their "past" memories (the future if they had never come back) in a small part at the beginning of the chapters. Hopefully, if I do it right, everything will come together in the end.

I hope you enjoy this! Thank you for the reviews and alerts! It means a lot.

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><p><strong>Surviving<strong>

_Chapter 1:_

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><p><em>It was six o'clock in the morning and Harry was wandering aimlessly through the corridors of Hogwarts, his fingers clutching onto the folds of his invisibility cloak, keeping the fabric firmly over his frame as he moved slowly ahead. The weight of his grief was almost too much to bear. He felt like he was falling farther and farther the more he pushed his legs to keep walking. Yet, at the same time he felt if he stayed still, locked his knees in place, he would just crumple to the floor, legs unable to hold him up. So he continued taking his small steps, his mind numb and his stomach rolling.<em>

How was he supposed to continue?_ The question was replaying over and over in Harry's head, looking for an answer. Looking for something that would inspire him to keep marching and not just jump into the Black Lake, swim down to the very bottom and never come back to the surface. Everything had finally hit him with a force that pushed him so harshly he could practically see the imaginary bruising on his flesh._

_All those "adventures" (more like near-death experiences) had been shoved to the back of his mind, for there was always something else claiming his attention – another mystery to figure out, another monster to fight, another person to save. He never had time to take it all in; react to the situation he had just faced. Now, after such a shocking, horrific, terrible, unimaginable, atrocious event, it was all crashing down on him, much like the buckets of rain falling from the sky at this very moment._

Sirius was dead.

_The only hope he'd had left that maybe, one day, he could have a family; an actual family - a person who cared for his wellbeing and safety and state of mind and future – was dead. Sirius, one of the last connects he had left to his parents was gone. He would never give that barking, slightly bitter, laugh again. He would never defend Harry's right for information and then sneak it to his godson when he didn't win the fight. He would never assure Harry that everything was going all right and he was turning into a good young man, one his parents would have been proud of. He would never write those short but reassuring letters again. He would never tell those old stories, his eyes lost in the past. He would never…never…never…never…_

And it was all Harry's fault.

_Sirius had died for _him_. He never would have been in the Department of Mysteries if Harry hadn't been so foolish, falling right into the trap Voldemort had set up to once again to try and create Harry's death. Instead of actually causing Harry's heart to go silent, Voldemort only succeeded in robbing him of another huge chunk of his heart, injuring the boy more on the inside that he could ever possibly on the outside._

_Everything was becoming too much to handle, especially after the long conversation he had with Dumbledore only hours ago. Especially after Ginny's fierce glare when he entered the Hospital Wing to figure out how badly damaged everyone had been. Especially after entering his dorm, with the intent to go to sleep and never wake, to see Neville writing vigorously on a piece of parchment and spying his own name within the blurs of ink. Especially after finally coming to terms with the fact Sirius was actually dead and there was no way he could come back. Especially after not finding the moisture in his eyes to cry, leaving him feeling unbelievably guilty. You were supposed to cry when someone you loved died, right? If he didn't cry…did that mean he hadn't loved Sirius?_

_He was tearing at the seams and no one was there to help him – stitch him back together. Ron and Hermione were hurt, for they – like everyone it seemed – had been injured because of his stupidity. Ron and Hermione, the ones that were normally always at his side, giving him encouragement to keep going. They were perfectly normal people, they didn't have this humongous destiny hanging over their heads, yet they stayed by his side, dealing with the consequences as they came. Despite the fact Harry knew his two best friends would never leave him and he wasn't alone (hadn't Dumbledore just repeated that to him over and over before he had left the man's office?) he felt like it. Like he was the only breathing being, his footsteps echoing on the stone walls and his breath hot against the hood of his invisibility cloak. Like he was the only person on the planet and there was no one to help him, to hold out a hand. Like he would be lost in these echoes of his own movements and the heat of his own breath for eternity._

_It was scary._

_It was a chill he could feel in his very bones and a panic blooming in his chest. It was an emptiness that no one in the world ever deserved to feel. It was unloved, unwanted, completely and utterly_ alone_._

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><p>Harry Potter awoke early on Saturday morning. So early in fact the sun had yet to rise and the dark cloudy sky cast silvery shadows across his small bedroom at Number 4, Privet Drive. The room was full of old toys that had long since met their death; being crushed as a much younger Dudley sat on them accidently, or the product of Harry's cousin's many tantrums when he didn't get what he wanted, or because it had never actually been used properly and therefore suffered from thick layers of dust, which, according to Dudley, made them about the same as they would have been should they actually be broken. Small children books and thick chapter novels stood unused along the small bookshelf, some delicately taken care of (Harry was quite the reader in the summer, not for the enjoyment of the activity, but because there wasn't much else to do on a boring non-magical street where you lived with your non-magical relatives that despised the very ground you walked on) and in a stack to the side, other odd books sat, probably never to be read. A small desk was crammed into the corner, one leg held only by a piece of tape, and on it sat a mess of parchment, ink quills, unopened and opened letters, various magic books for homework that had long since been given up on, and a small fluttering energetic owl that shook brightly when it noticed Harry's eyes finally open. It stretched its small leg out, a letter wrapped securely around the limb.<p>

The thin mattress squeaked in protest as Harry moved slightly in a daze to the small owl, almost tripping over his still unpacked trunk, which was thrown open and a mess of supplies and clothes within it.

"Pig?" Harry asked, staring at the owl as if it would disappear if he took his eyes off of the creature for only a moment. The small thing squawked, flapping its wings excitedly and Harry grinned.

"It worked. It worked. IT WORKED!" His face glowed and his eyes sparkled as he fought the urge to dance around his room in complete joy. He wasn't dead. He was breathing, his heart still beating, the blood still rushing through his veins... It worked. That small vial of insanity actually worked! He could change it. His future wouldn't have to happen anymore. _He could save them._

Taking a deep breath, he composed himself and reached for the letter, removing it gently from the owl he hadn't seen in so long. Despite the decisions of its owner, Harry was still quite fond of the little devil. Sirius bought him after all.

_Sirius._

It was as if the name triggered a million thoughts and Harry was forced to realise the reality of his situation. He and Theo had been so focused on if the potion would actually work or not they hadn't paid much consideration to what they would do if it _did_ work. Of course, they were going to change many things, but where would they start? What was their plan? Harry had learned that plans were necessary sometimes – war wasn't easy and if you just ran out on the battlefield without any ideas inside your head you would be killed almost immediately. He could not fail this. After everything that had happened to make them reach this point, to make them take such drastic measures, he could not allow this second opportunity, a chance to save so many, slip through his fingers.

Running a hand through his hair, he decided the first course of action was to find out what the date was and go from there. He would rather like proof that Theo had made it safely, but he doubted he would get such evidence. Even if Theo was fine, he would certainly be unable to send a letter to Harry Potter of all people when he lived in a house full of Death Eaters. He could probably sneak it, but Theo didn't have his own owl; it would just be too much of a risk. If Harry could see that, Theodore certainly would.

Glancing down at the letter in his hands, he recognised Ron's untidy scrawl of '_Harry_' on the front and wondered if this would have some kind of hint to what the date was, as much as he wished to never have to read a letter written by Ron Weasley again. It was obviously after his Third Year at Hogwarts, for Pig was proof of that... Taking a deep breath he unfolded the letter. When he decided on taking that potion he knew this would be hard, he and Theo understood that. They would have to face people who had died, who they had seen die, who betrayed them and hurt them. They might even have to face the people who remembered their deaths. That was a pain they were willing to live with if it meant saving the people they loved; saving the world.

_Harry,_

_How you doing, mate? Muggles aren't giving you too much trouble? (If they are, remember those things Fred and George gave you!) I can't say much about the you-know-what obviously, but there's a lot going on here. Bunch of odd people, too. Hermione and me will tell you everything we know when we see you, don't worry._

_If it makes up for it, Dumbledore says you can come here soon. I can't wait. Gets awful boring with just Hermione and her constant nagging, "Do your homework, Ronald!" and "Haven't you ever actually read a book, Ronald? You should go try now!" She's bloody mental, I tell you._

_See you soon,_

_Ron_

Harry remembered this letter. It was one of the many that he had ripped to shreds because of his fury at being kept in the dark. He had been so angry that year. Dumbledore would barely meet his eyes and Ron and Hermione were acting all secretive... The D.A. was probably the only thing keeping him from really doing horrible damage to the school and the people inside it (especially Umbridge) for all the secrets. Harry always believed it was his fifth year that made him trust Luna and Neville enough to run to them when he needed help, when he knew he couldn't do it alone anymore.

Shaking his head, Harry shoved those thoughts from his mind – none of that would have to happen, so why should he have to think about it?

He stumbled back to his bed and sat down on the end, frowning down at the old clothes he was currently wearing. It was obvious he hadn't had a shower in a few days either. At this time, he supposed, his younger self was still having repeats of Cedric's death playing through his dreams. He had always been prone to nightmares and they had only succeeded on getting worse the older he became, though that may have something to do with the fact the horrors only got worse the longer he lived. He knew what it was like to not have enough sleep and learned to function relatively comfortable on only a few hours, but this had been one of the worst summers. He had witnessed a murder and he had lost the last of that innocence, the last of his vain hope that perhaps those people did have some warmth left in their hearts.

Wrinkling his nose, he decided the first thing on his schedule was to take a shower; the Dursleys wouldn't be up for another few hours at least and he was not looking forward to when they did wake.

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><p>Harry's hair had always been messy. His fringe fell on his forehead in chaotic waves and the back always seemed to stick up no matter how many times he brushed it or tried to smooth it down with his fingers. He had once hated it and never understood why his own father would contently run his fingers through it on purpose to make it messier – or at least, that what Sirius said he did. Yet, Harry seemed to have picked up that annoying habit as well. Though he never did it to make it stick up even more, it was solely a reaction to stress or frustration or nervousness. Like how sometimes Theo tapped his fingers on the table or Neville pulled at his shirt sleeves. Through his many years on the run, hunting for horcruxes and endlessly fighting to stay alive, his continued hate of his untamable hair just wasn't important anymore. It didn't matter. So as Harry stared at himself in the slightly fogged mirror in the Dursleys' bathroom, he wasn't paying attention to the chaos decorating the top of his head or even the bent, round glasses that really needed replacing perched atop his nose. He was looking at the pale skin of his torso, amazed and slightly frightened, though he hated to admit it.<p>

The absence of so many of the scars he had gotten in the war was overwhelming. Scars were just another thing that weren't necessary to worry about, much like the state of his hair. As long as he wasn't bleeding too much or going to die from them, it didn't matter. While he had always been aware of them in the back of his mind, he couldn't really see just how much a difference those light red or silver scars made on his pale skin. Not until now.

This was finally settling inside his head. He was fifteen again. He was capable of making sure he never got all those scars again. So many possibilities...so many ways to change things... What if something went wrong?

He desperately wished Theodore was here. Theo was always able to shed light on things like this. He always knew what to say. And there was this ache that rose inside of him now he knew he may never get to see _his_ Theo ago. That the Theodore Nott of this time may not even know him, except for the image of his face on newspapers and a random passing in the corridor.

Because, what if the potion had only worked for Harry?


	3. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: _I don't own Harry Potter.

_Summary:_ It wasn't fair that everything had come down to this: one tiny potion vial. But if it worked, it could change everything. No one would have to die. They could actually live instead of just surviving. And what other options did they have? AU! Slash!

_Warnings:_ Slash, Language, Character Death, AU, Time Travel, Dumbledore Bashing, Weasley Bashing…

_Main Pairings:_ Harry Potter/Theodore Nott, Luna Lovegood/Neville Longbottom.

_Author's Notes: _Sorry it took so long to get this out! I told you I was a horrible updater. And as a reminder, the italicised paragraphs at the beginning are what happened in their original timeline, when they had not gone back in time. That will progress to explain their memories and knowledge as they go through their adventures after going back in time.

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><p><strong>Surviving<strong>

_Chapter 2:_

_Theodore's feet padded rhythmically against the stone floor as he walked lazily through the corridors, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of trousers and his thick, emerald jumper fending off the cool draft floating in the air. He couldn't sleep, which was quite normal for the tall boy, and since he had no unfinished homework to focus on, he took to wandering the castle walls. His mind was blank and he took his time walking along, taking in the small crisscross cracks in the stones and the scuffmarks from the unpolished shoes of many Hogwarts girls and boys._

_He was doing his best to avoid thinking. Not a certain topic or a current problem, but thinking in general. He wanted the peace of an empty agenda for a little while. The threats of his thoughts could bombard him later, when he was locked safely in his dormitory with a very strong silencing charm (whoever crafted that particular spell was a greatly worshiped genius). Mainly because most of his thoughts were horrible thoughts, not like the due date for his next History of Magic paper or how pretty Daphne Greengrass looked this morning. His thoughts involved a snake-like Dark Lord and the mark that his father was dying to burn into his arm._

_It was the curse of Slytherin's he supposed. And those fucking Gryffindors thought they had it easy._

_Taking in a sharp breath, he closed his eyes for a minute, focusing on the silence around him. But there wasn't just plain silence. There was the echoing sound of another pair of feet, the soles of their school shoes thudding lightly against the stone floor. He could faintly hear their unsteady breathing. _

Were they crying?_ He wondered. Opening his eyes, he examined the space around him. He could not see the figure, but was aware that it would turn the corner into his corridor any second. He had time to flee down the opposite way, avoiding the footsteps, but that thought didn't seem to settle with him well._

_Why wouldn't his feet move away? They felt like lead, rooting him in place. It was probably just some crying first year, homesick. What could he do? Order them to the Hospital Wing to get a sleeping potion? Ha, like that was likely. They'd probably run screaming when they saw the Slytherin crest on his emerald sweater. Sometimes, he really despised the house the sorting hat had deemed him worthy of. But there would be many more complications that reputation if he had been put in even Ravenclaw, least of all Gryffindor. _

_But it wasn't a first year or a second year, or even a crying girl because her boyfriend broke up with her. _

It was Harry Potter.

_What in the world was Harry Potter doing here?_

_It was obvious that the other boy had not caught sight of Theo, or else he probably would have drew his wand or something – if he could hold a wand, Theo thought, examining him. Potter's shoulders were hunched, as if he was caring the weight of a million broomsticks on them, and his eyes were red, but not tearing. He had a large scrape on his cheek, a dried trickle of blood just below it, and his fists were clenched so tightly Theo thought the skin of his knuckles would tear right then and there. _

_Theodore Nott had seen Potter battered and bruised before – he always was by the end of the year supporting various injuries that were inflicted during his self-sacrificing actions, whatever they may be. But never in his five years at Hogwarts had he seen Potter (or anyone else for that matter) looking so...haunted._

_There wasn't another word for it. Theo didn't know how else to explain it. Just..._haunted_. Like he had just seen the entire world destroyed slowly and horribly. Like he had been tormented for hours, days, weeks, _years _on end. Like he was so burdened down that he was crumbling._

_It was common suspicion that Potter was the "chosen one" – the one selected to defeat the Dark Lord. Theo had never supported a theory like that, because Potter was just a teenager. A Muggle-raised half-blood that scrapped by with average grades and was caught way too many times after curfew to have a beautifully painted record. Not that Potter may not be a quick thinker, if all the rumours of his adventures were true, but there was no way a mere teenager, even if it was Potter, could defeat a Dark Lord that had decades of knowledge at his fingertips. _

"_Oh!" Potter's cry of surprise and his clumsy footsteps backwards shoved Theo from his musings to the awareness of his current situation. It was obvious that Potter would have run straight into Theo's still form had he not looked up right when he did._

That would have been interesting._ Theo cringed, picturing the loud sound that his fall would have made if Potter had collided into him._

"_Umm..." Potter looked around, eyes shifting so he wasn't looking at Theo in the eyes, but he made no move to his wand. _

"_Potter." Theodore greeted curtly, nodding his head in acknowledgement._

* * *

><p>The Nott Manor was a dark place. All the walls were painted dark velvets and emerald and grey and even black. The floors were the darkest shade of hard wood imaginable and shone in the dim lights. Curtains covered every window, never allowing sunlight to reach the inside. The house elves were brutally mistreated and their living space was once of the most disgusting sights one could ever see. Lord Nott was a man of small standing and most of his fortune had been claimed by the Dark Lord to fund the war, leaving the family little to live off of. But Lord Nott always made sure his son and heir wore the proper pureblood clothing and stood with elegance and pride in his heritage. The man was also firm in his belief that the Dark Lord would repay them for all of their troubles and soon they would be one of the richest to ever walk the earth.<p>

Theodore Nott, his son, just thought him insane. Theo had always questioned everything, even as a small child. His mother had died during his birth so he had never known her and his father wasn't the best with children, leaving Theo to learn about life from the dusty tomes in the library and various portraits of his ancestors lining the hallways of his home. He learned a great many things he probably never would have should he actually had social interaction with other children his age as he grew. Some of the portraits were all too helpful, wise and readily encouraging him when he was presented with a problem. Yet, Theo had noticed the portraits that hadn't stood for long, his grandfather and great-grandfather, would turn their noses up at him and claim that no Nott heir should spend so much time _reading _of all things. He ignored those portraits.

Do to his lack of social interaction as a small boy, he had no idea where his ground was at Hogwarts. He didn't know how to make friends or even start up a polite conversation. Yes, he minded his manners as every pureblood heir was expected to, but he was very stiff and uncomfortable when others around him would chatter and laugh. So once again he found his haven in the world of words and the smell of dried ink and parchment. He had some of the best grades in his year, but the normal subjects were of little interest to him. He preferred Runes and Spell Crafting. The subjects fascinated him and the Hogwarts library really was the best one in the world. There was so much knowledge just sitting there gathering dust...

While he probably should have been a Ravenclaw, (he had talked the sorting hat out of it because his father surely would have disowned him if he wasn't in the house of the snakes – and where would he go if that happened?) he had a lot of Slytherin qualities too (that's probably the only reason the hat actually listened to him). He had, after all, gotten into the restricted section in his first year.

It wasn't long before he stumbled upon information of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Theo knew stories of the Dark Lord, understood that he would rise again and it was Theo's place to do anything and everything the Dark Lord wished of him, but he came soon to understand the words his father had spoken about the man, with admiration and envy clear in his tone, had been completely _wrong_.

The books he had found and read, taking in the words with horrified eyes and shaking fingers, were so dark and...he was sick right there in the library after reading only one chapter. Theo didn't stop though, he had to know. He had to understand the point of it all – what was so precious that someone would kill and murder and do all those horrible (unnecessary) things for?

Theo had never known his father well and the only time the older man would talk to his son was in passing or gushing stories about the almighty Dark Lord Voldemort at the dinner table. Christmases were short; his father's nasty sister would come in from France, make snide comments about Theo's "properness" and drink too much wine. They would have a lovely prepared meal which was ate in silence, other than his Aunt's drunk mumblings, and the next day she would be gone and life would be back to the same again. (He never got presents.) Because of this, Theo didn't know much about his father's character, certainly not enough to judge why he would go along with such horribleness.

Each fact he discovered, each event he read, each picture he saw...The questions came with a fierceness that could not be controlled until he found the answers he sought – all coming down to the master question.

_Why?_

The torture the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters pursued upon the innocent Muggles – people who had no idea of magic and had no inkling to the fact that some "wizards" would think their blood and very presence "unclean" –was horrific. Young women were raped and slaughtered, children beaten and left for dead, men tortured inches from death... It was war. That was well seen and understood. What had taken place years before was a war, but as far as Theo could see, it was a war without any cause or point. The classified "light side" were just trying to stay alive while the classified "dark side" murdered their kin and friends because of the nonsense of blood purity.

All his life Theodore had heard the lectures over and over again, shoved into his ears and trying to twist his beliefs in its favour. He very well could have been convinced that Muggles were useless life forms only harming magic and Muggle-borns deserved to die and rot in hell for trying to take away the right of magic from those who "deserve" it. Yet, he was always the type to observe and make his own calculations first and foremost. That was something the portraits of his ancestors had taught him and taught him well. Perhaps that was why he had taken the first step to trying to truly discover the reason for this war other than the speeches of "blood purity". There just had to be a greater reason than something so petty.

Theodore was sixteen now and he still hadn't found the reasons he had been searching for. That only proved his father's words had been wrong. The Dark Lord was just another murderer committing horrible acts for his own selfishness. What scared him the most was, Voldemort was back. Despite the Daily Prophets fierce denial, Theo's father was a Death Eater and his father also loved to gloat. The man was practically skipping (when he was able) and the talks of Theo getting branded into this little gang of the Dark Lord's were becoming more and more serious.

That scared him because it took away the freedom he had been waiting his whole life for. The dreams of finally getting away from this dark, lonely manor and seeing the world – finally seeing through his eyes rather than the words in books and the images they brought. If his father forced him, he would never be able to make his dreams come alive. If his father forced him, he would probably die anyway. There was no doubt in his mind that he would ever be able to go along with the things the Death Eaters were planning.

Theo had never seen the world in black and white. He didn't just see good and evil. How could he? He grew up with a Death Eater as a father who had carried out horrific acts and he went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which taught about life and goodness. Theo had always thought himself as grey. He understood the point of death, everyone dies and you can't stop it, but he understood life as well, it was precious and everyone only had one chance. He would never agree with Voldemort on his way of doing things and he would never agree with Dumbledore, for he didn't really seem to do much in the war according to the texts and the man just always just gave him this funny feeling in his gut.

If anything, Theo wanted to stay out of this upcoming war – for it was surely going to happen. Everyone was bound to turn to Harry Potter to save them, too, and Theo pitied the boy for the role he was burdened with, remembering brief conversation in the hallway that cold, dark night. Yet, Theo didn't trust the boy with his life either. If he was going to get out, he'd have to get out before that mark was placed on his arm. If he was going to get out before the bloodshed began, he'd have to do it soon.

The sun was beginning to rise and Theo placed the book he hadn't really been paying attention to back on his desk. Standing up, he stretched his aching muscles, regretting never going to bed. He had gotten caught up in a book of old protective magics and was too captivated to put it down. Theo was terribly tired though and he knew he wouldn't have time to sleep. He always had to be at breakfast right on time, even if his father wasn't. It wasn't "pureblood like" to sleep later than seven.

Suddenly, dizziness took over his vision and he was quickly thinking of what the cause could be. Missing one night's sleep wouldn't do this to him...Theo barely had time to throw his arms out, hoping to catch himself, when his vision went black.

Fifteen minutes later, he would wake up with different thoughts than the ones he had before. He would wake up with new memories and new experiences he had never dreamed of having just minutes ago. Theo would wake up five years older (mentally, at least) than he had been when he had collapsed. And the boy's last memories would be not of passing out, but a tiny potion vial and his lover's scared green eyes.


End file.
